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Thursday, 14 August 2014

Stop all the clocks…

So, I think it suffices to say that we are all rather
shocked and traumatised by the passing of comedy's, no, life's greatest and
brightest stars.

I normally don’t care for celebrity deaths, people live,
people die. Some are influential, like
Madiba and Dr Angelou, who I've spoken of before. We pay our tributes, we give our thoughts, we
remember them, we get that nice glow of fondness and gratitude, we move on.

But this felt like a punch in the gut. A small hole dropping out from beneath you
because your Genie; the one who made you laugh with innumerable impressions and
goddamn, some of the dirtiest and most salacious jokes you've ever seen or
heard, thought that his existence was so hopeless and desperate, that he could
no longer feel like he belonged here, alive, breathing, with his family, with
his friends or his fans.

The one thing people have been baffled over is how someone
who brings so much happiness could have had so little for himself.

Easy, that's what depression does. Its such an awful son of a bitch and it doesn't
care how kind you are, how generous and bright your are, how willing you are to
share your light with the world and how happy you are to make others happy.

It says to you; 'Yeah, its all fine and dandy that everyone
thinks you're the bees knees and its all sort of nice that you're so good to
the people around you, but guess what, I'm here to tell you that no matter how
wonderful you really are, you're never going to feel it. All that happiness you give other people, all
that love that you're so eager to share with the world? I'm taking that away
from you, I wont let you have a single ounce of it.'

Depression claims you, in a similar way that drug addiction
slowly claims every aspect of your life, this does it too. It steals your happiness and keeps it for
itself, a self-indulgence hurt machine that digs its little claws in you and
croons the most cruel and hateful and hurtful things into your ear and worse,
it does it because it believes it loves you, it believes it and is making you
believe it too.

The most horrible thing about this, because Robin Williams
was a total stranger to me, is that there is no way in the seven hells that I
would have even had an ounce of presence or influence in his life and yet I still
feel guilt; guilt at not having been able to somehow reach out for this famous
and wonderful stranger.

I can only imagine what his family is going through, my
heart bleeds, it is unimaginable.

I am so sorry Mr Williams that your despair led you down the
darkest roads, that sometimes drink and drugs eased the loneliness, but
ultimately they only led you further into the dark. I'm so sorry that this cruel, monstrous
illness figuratively cock-blocked you from having all that wonder and joy and
love from properly settling into your heart.
I am sorry we didn't notice sooner, I'm sure your family and friends
were the greatest shields you had against this evil, but ultimately, you couldn't
go on.

It almost makes a person really mad, that this nameless,
faceless thing thinks it has the right to steal everything that is good from
you, fuck it, fuck depression.

And yes, I feel strongly about this, too much maybe. Because it hits far too close to home.

And no, suicide isn't selfish, its desperate, its lonely,
its misguided but it isn't selfish. It’s
the last resort of people whose minds are so arduously tortured that silence
and nothingness becomes the only promise of respite. That's the true evil of depression, it makes
you think that silence, not love, or warmth is the only answer.

Seriously, fuck that bastard. That lying selfish cruel bastard.

Anyway, I have no idea what to say in the face of this
tragedy. I loved Robin Williams like one
loves a favourite uncle.

He set the tone and timbre of my own personal sense of
humor. Everyone who knows me has seen my
constant and really, really bad attempts at voice impersonation. A trick I learnt from Robin from Aladdin (Fabulous Darling, I love the feathers).

He brightened every dark day with the Birdcage. A story that at heart, is about the deep and
abiding love one has for family. (Fossey,
fossey fossey!!!!)

He had depth and talent coming out of his hoo-hah like no
other actor. I remember watching his
interviews and knowing without a doubt I would end up in stitches.

There was never a time when this man wasn't shining.

And he seemed for a time, a success story. He overcame his addictions and his demons,
named a daughter after one of the coolest video games ever (maybe not the coolest character, but
that is slowly changing) and damnit how can this guy not be awesome in every
single way?

And to see that maybe those demons were maybe a little stronger is
disheartening and tragic, maybe he just needed more time. Or maybe he had run out.

We can only mourn for so long. After all, at the core of all this tragedy is
the face that someone lost a father, a husband, a friend. He may not have been a personal friend but
the loss is real, just maybe not that personal.

But what am I saying? I am talking like there is no
hope. Like this is all too much a sad
reality of the effects of depression and the aftermath of suicide.

It isn't.

Sometimes, some people lose the fight, or are too exhausted
to go on. Sometimes it happens, but its
not a fixed fact.

To everyone else who may relate, who may feel this
breathless pain, who can relate all too well:

Its so fucking hard, I know, but damnit, keep fighting.

And when the fight gets overwhelming always remember that
you do have more weapons in your arsenal than you are aware of even having. If you ever need a happy grenade, I'mma toss you as
many as you need.

Reach out and find someone who deserves your friendship and
your love, even if it is just one person.
Although, you'd be surprised (like I often am) how many people actually
care for you in return. Love and
friendship aren’t just easy motifs for My Little Pony episodes, they're genuine
armour reinforcements for your heart and mind.

You won't be forgotten and your legacy will keep us strong
and happy and grateful that we were ever privileged to witness you shine. You're my hero and my hairiest dad, my best
playmate and funniest laugh. I won't
forget you and you will be remembered for all the things worth remembering you
for.

For all of us left behind, let's be genies and mad
scientists, peter pans and super hairy gay men, wear your rainbow suspenders and
your red noses. We have inherited his
joy and his talent so lets put it to good use.

For us in Oz who may need someone to talk to, the occasional pat on the shoulder of just something to help ease the noise, we have:

And if you can, or have the physical ability to do so (I
can, I think, just give me time and maybe surgery) – participate in the upcoming
event Movember, which focuses on men's health and men's mental health issues.

If all else fails, even as I make my way down my own occasionally dark, cockblocky thorn riddled
road; know that I love you all like Robin Williams loved to drink excessive amounts
of water at a standup (most of which was used as a prop to simulate his dirty
jokes, good times, good, sloppy, times).

I'm not always around but I think about you guys fondly and even those of you I
do not know at all, I think about you too and I want nothing but happiness for
you because really, the world only needs happiness (and internet) and nothing much beats that.

So remember that you're gaining XP every mother fucking day.
That coffee you drank in the morning was
another achievement unlocked. You're
blasting paperclips like locust in Gears of War and goddamn you are a badass,
look at your Level 50 Demon Hunter armor, that shit is sparkling, and every
dent and every scratch is just another battle scar anecdote you can tell to
impress everyone.

Be free and happy in the here and now. Thanks for putting up with this rant and peace
out.